The panama hat, however, was too small; until the very last minute, his mother begged him not to put it on unless he wanted to become the laughingstock of the town.
Come on, Mother, then what the devil should I do with it.
Hold it in your hands.
The sky was a little cloudy on this Wednesday but the heat was great, with hardly any breeze because of the heavy humid air.
A real Hungarian summer, whose smell and heat he had thought so much about when he lived in Germany and Holland.
His ability to discipline himself notwithstanding, he felt he would have a long wait for any anticipated fulfillment. First the train had to deliver Mrs. Szemző, then the two of them would have to stroll back along sunny Danube Row to the parental house, and only then, finally, in the workshop could he show her the neat, elegant objects so enriched by their inner life. Beyond the railway station, beyond the black hills of the coaling dock, on the estate of Archduke Frederick of Lorraine two harvesting machines were at work; one could hear the harvesters’ drawn-out shouts locked in the machines’ monotonous noise. In the summer seasonal laborers from Göcsej worked on the archduke’s land. Perhaps those were not shouts but the singing of laborers as they lay in the shade of acacias waiting for the midday sun to relent a little. Here, on the flat expanse of Sátorhely, where according to the old historians the Turkish and Hungarian armies had marched against each other in 1526, the fertile, much envied fields stretched all the way to the grape-growing hills. Madzar was not alone on the platform; other people were waiting for the train too. In his excitement he paid no attention to the exceptional human sounds, and there were many other kinds of noise as well. The tipcarts at the coaling dock were rhythmically clanging and clicking; from the loudspeaker at the nearby swimming pool the melody of a popular tune radiated as far as the station. In the surrounding landscape irregular pulsating shouts sounded like a work song filled with accusations, or like a recitative proclaiming the desolation of fate. When the short train with its stocky engine approached and then pulled into the station, activities intensified; railway workers and porters moved out from the shade, and to his astonishment he quickly recognized, in the slowly moving window of a first-class car, Mrs. Szemző’s two sturdy, aggressive little sons, surrounded by young girls or rather young ladies. They were literally hanging out the window, eagerly showing something to the brightly dressed girls who in the wind created by the train were holding on to and waving their hats. One could also see two well-fed rats running between the basalt track bed and the concrete wall of the platform, along with the train. In the noise of the braking train, Madzar had no time to become used to the thought that Mrs. Szemző was not alone.
He felt like blaming Mrs. Szemző for this first surprise, as for a serious misdeed, and also like making excuses for her.
When the conductor finally opened the doors, Dr. Szemző’s bald head and beaming face shone down on Madzar.
In his utter confusion he did not understand anything. He had been through many things, but for the first time in his young life he felt he would perish, he could not bear it.
He felt as if he had been caught with his desensitized feelings showing, without time even to blush. Mrs. Szemző cannot be without her sons and the sons cannot be without each other. What should he do now, he wondered, but he had no time for such questions. At any rate, his familiar world was turning upside down, about to fall on his head. Something was happening, or was beginning to happen, independent of him, which he could not comprehend. It was as if in this very exceptional moment he confessed to himself that he could not be without Bellardi. First, he had to greet Dr. Szemző, to acknowledge and reciprocate the man’s obvious pleasure in seeing him, which must have been genuine, seeing that Madzar was building a big new home for him with the best available materials and equipped with the highest achievements of modern technology. At last he glimpsed Mrs. Szemző, who, in the company of a very fetching, fragile woman about her age, was coming toward him.
They smiled at him from the midst of their intense conversation.
It soon became clear that the woman had been one of Mrs. Szemző’s classmates in school. Laughing and cutting into each other’s words, they were telling Madzar that only two days earlier they had been together at an open-air concert on Margit Island, and now they had met on the train completely by chance. They were laughing about how insane such coincidences were.
Every summer she brings her pupils, students at the Hungarian Royal School of Industrial Design, to Mohács, and they, she and Madzar, might have met before.
The woman rather dazed Madzar.
You know, I’ve lived abroad for a long time, he said politely and a little as if excusing himself.
They are all studying textiles, the woman explained, shining her large bright eyes on him, and for years the city had been kind enough to put the rooms of the empty hospital for infectious diseases at their disposal.
Which is ideal, enthused Mrs. Szemző, who felt she should mitigate somewhat the excitement generated by this unexpected encounter.
Ideal indeed, and not only because it’s comfortable there and the silk factory is nearby, not just that, enthused the rail-thin, black-haired woman dressed in layered silk. You’ll see for yourself what a splendid chestnut-tree park the building has, just splendid, she cried, and with her enormous eyes glanced at the architect, who surely knew this splendid park.
There, outside, we can do our watercolors under the trees, to our heart’s content.
Madzar was looking at the scar on the woman’s face.
Otherwise, we use the empty wards as studios, when it rains.
Luckily we don’t have to be afraid of some devastating epidemic. The two women laughed together.
Originally that property belonged to the prince of Montenuovo, Madzar remarked quietly, to be part of the conversation somehow. This family, you should know, has a special standing in Mohács, where frugality would not be exceptional. The Montenuovos disliked plants that were merely decorative. For them, every plant had to make its own profit. That is why they had so many chestnut trees planted, back in the day.
He wanted to step between them, both to observe them and to end this senseless female shouting and giggling. As if to his shame he had no choice but to put himself in the middle of their chaos and cacophony. Again things were happening some other way, not his. A woman had again done something to him, and had brought another one along to boot. He was outraged, and for a long moment the two women sent searching, penetrating looks from under their large hats at the man who seemed to be emanating aversion and rejection. They also smiled at him politely, appreciating and at the same time assuaging his embarrassment.
Sizing up the expert who will be their splendid guide in the next few days.
He’d probably enjoy being their tourist guide.
It would be truly ideal, if only he were willing.
And while they continued to chat like this, they kept looking at him from under their hats and wondering what had gotten into this attractive though rather preposterously dressed man.
Her pupils would be so glad if he looked at their work.
With your belated permission, my dear architect, I told Miss Dobrovan that I had seen your wonderful drawings.